


we'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now

by deadgreeks



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5371877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadgreeks/pseuds/deadgreeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve finally finds Bucky, Sam reminisces about the best friend he once lost too. The one who didn't come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now

The Back From the Dead Party was dying down when Sam decided to step out. He leaned against the counter of Steve's (and now, Barnes' as well) kitchen counter in DC, watching the two of them. Bucky looked haggard and hesitant but doubtlessly _present_ , a clarity in his eyes that hadn't been there for a long, long time. He and Steve exchanged frequent, shy smiles, and at the moment sat very close to one another on Steve's long IKEA couch.

There weren't many guests, but there were enough that he didn't think Steve would notice him bowing out immediately. Tony—a tipsy, conflicted Tony who couldn't seem to decide if he had quite forgiven Barnes, but had nonetheless come here for Steve's sake (probably at Pepper's bequest, now that Sam thought about it)--was making some kind of scene, and it was a testament to Barnes' hold over Steve that he didn't even look that irritated. He'd seemed—lighter, somehow, since Barnes had slunk back, cheeks sunken, hair filthy, clothes torn and dirty. Sam's stomach tightened, someone else on his mind. Someone who had made his own shoulders lighter, his smiles realer. He downed his punch and pushed off the counter, eyes on his coat by the door, when someone hopped on the counter.

Nat swung her legs, smile harmless and sweet, but her eyes watched over the rim of her cup as she sipped, regarding him carefully. “Leaving already?” she asked, voice smooth. She was looking for something, Sam could tell. He thought he was getting pretty good at reading her these last few months. He could tell, usually, when she was being genuine and when she was putting on a show. As much as anyone could, anyway. Or maybe the sincerity he saw was simply another face she wore for his sake, the kind of person he would trust and befriend. He could never be sure, but he didn't think that was it. That was the Natasha who snorted when she laughed, crinkled her nose at the suggestion of grabbing street tacos, and whose eyes lit at the mention of books she liked. This was the Natasha whose voice was polished, smile tilted just so to say _“Come here, trust me.”_

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I'm not feeling well—I'm really tired. Think I'm just gonna go home.”

She nodded towards Steve and Barnes. “Won't Steve miss you?”

“Nah, he's wrapped up in his boy. Can't blame him,” he said, and her eyes sharpened. So that was what she was looking for. The reason he was watching Steve and Barnes so much.

“Is that so,” she said simply. “I might. I think Steve's got a one-track mind when it comes to him.” Nat didn't say his name often—more often now than before, since she had returned from whatever identity search she had been on and Barnes had been more than a terrified ghost trapped in the shell of a killer.

“Yeah,” Sam snorted, thinking on their year of endless, constant searching. Chasing dead leads only for Barnes to turn up on their doorstep. “You can say that again.”

“Ever make you jealous?” She seemed to know he was catching on. She'd dropped the slick voice and mathematical smile in favor of a face of open curiosity.

He scoffed. “Me? Nah. I love Steve. I'm glad he's happy.” He put his hands up at Nat's quirked brow. “Not like that. It's just. I dunno.”

Her eyes flashed in realization and he knew she wasn't putting on a face. When Natasha was acting, you never saw what she was thinking. “Are you jealous that Barnes came back?”

Sam looked at her quickly. He had told her, once, about Riley—one of the leads she'd come along in chasing, riding in the passenger seat while Steve slept in the back, and he told her in slow and measured tones about the day it happened, watching him fall out of the sky, Sam helpless to stop him. She'd been silent, watching, listening, cataloging. But not evaluating. He was grateful for that—but she'd never spoken about him before. No one did, really. Steve asked about him, sometimes, thinking that Sam must want to talk about him the way Steve did Barnes. But Sam never wanted Riley to be simply the dead man he had become. He was so much more than that.

“No,” he said honestly. “No, I'm not. At all.”

“Why not?” she seemed genuinely curious. She'd told him that same night spent driving into middle America about a girl who had grown up with her in the Red Room. Yelena. She'd been killed on a mission they'd both been sent on a few years after Nat defected. They'd never been able to become good friends, but they'd been as close as they could be, it'd seemed. Sam wondered if she would want what Steve and Barnes had gotten. A second chance with the ultimate strings attached.

“Riley wouldn't want that.” He shook his head. “Not at all. He’s not—he wasn’t—that kind of guy. Wouldn't want that.”

“Not the kind to claw his way out of his grave?” she asked, lips quirked, and Sam snorted in spite of himself.

“No,” he said. “He wasn't.”

“I think Barnes might have said that once too,” she mused, eyes sliding over to the pair in the living room. Barnes' lank hair, ill-fitting clothes, the seventy years of ghosts haunting him. The small but warm smile, the shy yet clear eyes, the way he turned towards Steve almost unconsciously. It was a give and take.

Sam smiled a little. “I don't think either of them are content to stay put while the other's up walking,” he said, and she huffed a little laugh, looking back at him.

“Come on,” she hopped down and offered him a hand. She barely came up to his shoulder. Sometimes it felt improbably as though he was looking up at her. Others, like today, she let herself be small. As if it was a privilege she afforded those she trusted, to not make them feel as though her slight frame towered over them. He thought it must be, sometimes. “Come back to the party. Steve will miss you if you're gone.”

He looked back into the living room. At Steve and Barnes crowded together, Tony loudly and obnoxiously telling some outlandish but probably true story and Pepper perched on the arm of a chair Rhodey occupied, both shaking their heads at him fondly. Clint sitting on the windowsill, occasionally shooting spitballs at Tony mid speech and glancing around innocently, playing the victim. A drunken Jane Foster loudly debating science that went over Sam's (and probably everyone else in the room's, maybe even Tony's) head with an amused and fond Bruce. Maria Hill and Fury seated next to Steve and Barnes, both without their usual severity. Sharon Carter on Steve's other side, mock complaining at Steve for having a chocolate cake made instead of strawberry.

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. “Okay.” He ignored her offered hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders and walked in with her. They were immediately called on by Steve to settle the argument of chocolate vs strawberry with Sharon.

The party lasted for several hours. At the end, when most of the guests had left and the others were passed out in the living room, Steve offered him a coffee and told him that he and Barnes would be getting a permanent apartment in Brooklyn, and he wanted to know if Sam would move in.

“It's near our old neighborhood. There's a place just down the hall,” he explained. “Two doors down from Nat and Clint. Wanda is gonna take the place upstairs. Tony and Bruce and the rest will still live in the Tower but—we were thinking that we got this big second chance. We don't wanna waste it. We wanna get back out. And we'd like you to be a part of it, if you want to be,” he said, with big, earnest blue eyes.

Sam smiled. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I wanna be. Of course, man.”

“Great,” Steve's voice was soft and happy. Everything seemed to be going right for him and—for the first time since he watched Riley fall out of the sky, it seemed like the same might be said of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The title is from Crosses by José González, which is a great song. This was a largely pointless fic that I wrote a while ago because of a conversation with my SO about if Sam is jealous of Steve and Bucky's second chance.


End file.
